You call me as I sit in traffic and ask me to come over. I am excited at the idea of seeing you, but the traffic is bumper to bumper and my AC is out. I was already frustrated by my predicament and your call hasn't helped settle me. I growl something noncommittal into the phone and feel a pang of regret at the let down sound in your voice when you say ok. I realize you need me there. I smile after a long moment but then grimace again almost as quickly. I won't be there anytime soon. I should call...I don't call. I look ahead and notice the light. I turn at it fifteen minutes later and take the long way to your apartment. I relax a little as I escape that grind, and stop to get gas at a little Mom and Pop store. I purchase a Gatorade and drink it slowly, absorbing the stores cool AC and realize my anger is mostly heat and frustration.
By the time I reach the stoop of your apartment, I am no longer sweaty and my pulse has calmed considerably. I knock on the door. You answer, and you are wearing a smile that shatters the left-over pieces of my bad mood like a snowball striking hot pavement. I can't help it, I grin back. I fold my arms around you and feel at ease.
Then I notice...you aren't wearing a bra. Something in me clicks and I know that I want you. Now.
I step inside with you and the moment you close the door I rest my hand on your throat and push you up against the foyer wall. I stare at you, soaking you in, absorbing you, and you look alarmed for a moment until I drag my fingers through your hair. You start to say something but I stop you with a voracious kiss, pulling back slowly as I drag my teeth over your bottom lip. I wrap my hand in your hair and pull on it, leading you to the table. I pause to rub my free hand over your belly and ass, then I pull your head back and softly kiss your neck. I feel your excitement in the thrumming pulse of your throat as I swirl my tongue over it. I smile against your shoulder, beard rubbing your skin softly and murmur the word "Hi." in your ear.
Then, suddenly, I'm pushing you roughly up against the edge of the kitchen in a burst of movement and force that leaves your hips pressed against the side and my hands on your wrists, looming behind you. My body is pressed up against yours, pinning you there, and I drag my teeth over your shoulder before pulling on the hem of you shirt, sliding it up over your shoulders and tossing it aside. I slide my rough hands up over your belly and find your breasts, squeezing them with building pressure, to the point of pain.